


Peachy!

by PlasmaBooks



Category: Final Space (Cartoon)
Genre: Do it for them, F/M, an entire armada of gay, and no i dont mean she gets high, and she has no idea wtf shes doing, b a k i n g, but its not like explicitly, could have had this rated G but she curses in it, i decided to post this one instead of the garycato because somebody explicitly asked for straight, i had my teacher print me out a peach cobbler recipe just so i could write this, i mean this is sort of Quinnary, i really wanted peach cobbler, i will unleash it if so desired, if yall want gay please let me know bc i have an entire armada, just like me, she actually bakes, sorry boys and girls, theres no kissing, theyre together i promise, this was actually written a long time ago, uhhh quinn bakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasmaBooks/pseuds/PlasmaBooks
Summary: Baking while under pressure is possibly the worst idea she's ever had - and she's had a LOT of those.





	Peachy!

**(Tip: Listen to "Bloom" by The Paper Kites while reading this entire story.)**

 

Baking while under pressure is quite possibly the worst idea she's ever had, but when she wakes up from a nap she didn't mean to take, she checks the time and realizes she only has four hours to get everything ready. Four  _freaking_ hours. A quick run to the store gets her everything she needs, along with weird looks from strangers as she rocks anxiously on her heels in the crammed checkout line. The clock strikes twelve the moment she slams the cooking pan onto the faux granite counter. Three and a half hours left. She gets everything out - flour, sugar, milk, sliced peaches, and butter - and begins to start. And holy _fuck,_ she has no idea what to do until she sits down and makes herself remember. Oh, right. 

 

"Head in the game, head in the game." She chants to herself, not really knowing why. She's back to the kitchen then, taking the stick of butter out of its packet and melting it in the pan. The radio is turned on soon after for background noise, but all it turns into is a poorly-balanced mix of jamming out and actually baking. She mixes the flour, sugar, and milk while dancing, connecting the stereo to her phone later on to ensure anything playing will be more her style.  She isn't sure what genre it is, but  _damn_ is it good for baking. Everything takes about fifty minutes to make, yet when she's letting it all cool down and admiring her work, she feels like she's missing  _something._ It takes her almost five minutes to remember; two hours left. 

 

Oh,  _shit._

 

She zips up and down the aisle of the store again, even faster than before. When she slams the packets on the conveyor belt, the lady bagging the items widens her eyes because _oh wow this lady is back here already and buying more sweets, is everything okay?_

 

She rushes out of the store with packets of cookie dough stacking in her arms and a container of Double Dunker Chocolate ice cream swinging on her hip in the safety of a plastic bag. At home, she throws open the freezer door and forces the ice cream container into the freezer just in time to avoid getting smacked in the face by falling ice cubes. The cookies are in the oven and the timer goes off just as she bites enough of her fingernail off to bring blood out.  _Fuck._ She washes her hands off, overdoing it just to be safe, and then slips on oven mits and takes the cookies out.  _Shit, one's burnt._ She hastily grabs that one and rushes over to the trash can, pressing the trigger on the bottom of it to make the lid open and slam-dunking the burnt cookie into the bin. The fact that it doesn't break when it hits the bottom shows her just what a mistake she would have made keeping that one in the batch, much less feeding it to a real person. 

 

Holy _fuck,_ do the cookies smell good. She does a mental checkoff and everything is present. Thirty minutes left. She collapses on the couch in the living room, exhausted as all hell, and dozes off until the sound of a slamming car door snaps her back to reality. Holy fuck, finally, he's back. She always loves it when he comes home from work, but today is a bit more special. 

 

She almost doesn't know what to do; she didn't plan the last part enough to have a plan on how to initiate the surprise. So when the door opens and Gary steps in, Quinn is standing in front of the peach cobbler, the cookies, and the now-opened container of Double Dunker chocolate ice cream, swinging her arms at her sides as she wings it and just goes with saying, "Sup." 

 

He's saying something, most likely a greeting, when his voice cuts off and he smells the air. If they were in a cartoon, he would have started floating towards the source of the scent. But instead, he just stood there in the doorway, looking completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words. "Are... are those..."

 

" _Those_ are a lot of things." She says, smiling. She steps to the side and seems to free him from his trance; he joins her in the kitchen. "Cookies? Yes. And some peach cobbler, and Double Dunker." 

 

"Can I have all of them...?" He whispers, his eyes glued to the cookie tray on the counter. She just laughs as a reply and steps to the dish-holder next to the sink, picking out a plate and handing it to him with a smile. 

 

"Let's start with three."

 

 


End file.
